


The Vineyard

by Happyorogeny



Series: The Black Temple [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, alcohol mention, death mention, familial death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 09:22:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happyorogeny/pseuds/Happyorogeny
Summary: Kael'thas searches for a moment of peace in the Black Temple vineyards. Illidan unwittingly causes consternation.





	The Vineyard

Now that the Sin'dorei had established themselves somewhat in Outland, priorities other than survival were beginning to reestablish themselves.

Kael'thas was pleased to see it, even if it did mean the tailors were squabbling over who got to design new ensembles for the royal line. He had left the temple to escape them and give himself time to come up with a solution, and now flew aboard a skinny griffin towards the nearby hills.

The flight master had fussed for a good ten minutes before agreeing to allow him to fly alone, for this was one of their newest griffins, barely trained. Many of them had perished in the Scourge attack. He’d managed to charm her into letting him leave and was grateful for the cool air up here, for the quiet. It was a short flight to the vineyard, too short- even from here he could see the tiered slopes, red soil demarcated into green strips.

Could it be a royal line if there was only one person? It was assumed all monarchs would bear children or bring forth successors of their own. They called it the royal line to establish a sense of continuity, of stability.

The russet griffin squawked in protest as his fists clenched in her ruff. He patted her shoulder apologetically.

It was expected of him to consider such things, particularly now. He knew he had had older siblings. They had lived and died long before he had been born, victims of the foreshortened lifespan that afflicted them more and more with every generation.

He couldn’t bear the thought of a mate, of a child. Never mind one that might well age and die before his very eyes.

The magi scholars had believed the Sunwell would stabilize this half-life decay. But now? Who knew anything, who even knew how the fel would affect them in the long term? What about the trauma and terror of the survivors? No one had escaped unscathed. Surely that stripped years off the life of a person. Illidan seemed hale enough, but he was a Kaldorei and an ancient sorcerer besides. He had been immortal before the magic. How would it warp them, over time?

The griffin screeched at him this time and he winced. He couldn’t land in this state, not with flight attendants waiting to take the reins and the gardeners ready to bring him on a tour.

What he wouldn’t give for even ten minutes alone, without eyes on him.

But ah, wasn’t it the truth that he was a beacon, light of his people? To be a light in the darkness drew every eye to you.

The griffin screeched and descended suddenly. He grabbed onto the saddle in alarm. What was wrong with the creature?

A shape loomed out of the clouds overhead, dark in hue and outlined with green. Of course it was Illidan. Lord Illidan, he corrected himself mentally, though it was damned hard to remember such things when a leader didn’t lead. He seemed to move around Silvermoon valley completely at random, taking off in the night to hunt demons and return with strange relics, toiling over unknowable plans when all the Temple was quiet, sleeping during the day.

True that he was probably nocturnal, but still! There were standards to uphold.

His griffin flattened her tufted ears right back as Illidan swooped past, wings trailing cloud. The griffins and other transport birds seemed to treat him as they would a larger predator, giving way to him in the air and hiding their food when he was around.

Kael supposed he couldn’t blame the poor creatures. Illidan was rather menacing and tended to appear from nowhere, dropping down out of the overcast sky without warning. Remarkable to watch in flight, really. His wings locked into his back with what looked like a ball-and-socket joint, allowing him a remarkable degree of maneuverability. Kael had seen him land easily on rocky outcrops no more than a handspan wide, turn on one wingtip so as to fly back and inspect something he’d seen on the ground.

He was certainly fleeter on the wing than a demon, for everyone had seen him chase down Natrizhiem and direbats alike, forcing them to the ground for orcish or Sin'dorei hunting parties to dispatch. 

Illidan dropped towards the vineyards. The flightmasters had taken to painting their platforms with a large felfire rune so as to encourage him to land there, rather than on the roof or in their courtyards where he would terrify the hawkstriders. Illidan seemed to defy this out of contrariness. Sure enough he circled the landing platform once before beating upwards to glide over the trellis groves and vanish behind the taller vines.

Why was the would be Lord of Outland visiting the vineyard? Kael had never seen him drink, nor show any interest in the softer facets of life.

On the bright side, that was exactly the kind of distraction he was looking for. The attendants completely missed how the griffin bounced him around as they landed. Perfectly understandable from a young animal, but something the other Sin'dorei would have overreacted to given that she carried the Prince.

He made a quick fuss of her and found some almonds in his pocket to feed her as a treat. That was essential on a griffins first flight, so that they came to realize it was a good thing.

It also gave him enough time to put on a face for the crowd.

None of these people would have actually seen him in person, before the scourging. A lot of them were from farming families who lived in the outskirts, or those who managed flying mounts in remote outposts. They survived by virtue of their isolation. The main armies of the Scourge had hit the cities, and it had being the military, the magi and the city civilians that suffered the greatest decimation.

The flight attendant hovered awkwardly and hesitated before taking the reins from him, then stiffened and started to bow, then tried to curtsy half way through and almost fell over. He pretended not to notice so as to spare her embarrassment. Several of the gardeners stared in open curiosity. He could feel himself starting to flush. Hopefully they would just think it the natural high colour of a fire mage.

Feralus eyed him in something like horror. The poor gardener had being catapulted into relevance by virtue of his survival at an isolated botanical centre. His reaction to learning he was the only one qualified to care for the royal vines had been…loud. They were more than grape vines now, more than dusty wine bottles bearing the royal seal and presented as gifts of state. These plants had been carried all the way from Kalimdor by Dath'remar himself. Those that remained were essential links to their past, a sign of pride and hope.

“I wrote to you about a tour of the vines?” Kael prompted him gently. “I can leave if it’s a bad time?”

Honestly he would have preferred to explore on his own, but those days were past him.

“Of course it isn’t!” Feralus’s voice squeaked and he winced. “Pardon, it’s been dry work of late!”

The apprentices had overcome their shock enough to pass waterskins to the front. One of them hesitated as she started to offer him one, evidently unsure if she was allowed talk to the prince directly or not. He spared her the indecision by reaching for it himself.

“I suppose we could start with the casks?”

_You suppose?_ Kael thought irritably. _I’ll have to teach you some spine or the nobles will be in here demanding bottles._

The house-sized wooden casks in the outlying sheds seemed perfectly functional, if dusty. A purple grape-griffin perched haughtily upon the barrel and hissed at him as they approached. Identical to a large griffin but only as big as a hunting hound, these creatures were famed for their ability to keep a winehouse clear of snakes, rats and thieves. Along with the sand-coloured dragonhawks fluttering in the rafters, they were essential staff in any self-respecting winery. Sure enough, she bore a gleaming collar with the stamp of the royal winery. 

She relaxed once Feralus called out to her and glided down to nibble at the pockets of his apron. The edges of her feathers were grey with age and the eyes that peered up at Kael were dull with cataracts. 

“No others?”

“She lost the last clutch in the stress of travel.” Feralus seemed to relax, brown eyes softening as he plucked a loose feather from her ruff. “We have to try and find you a mate, don’t we?”

“Have you tried the Den?” Kael'thas was reasonably sure he’d seen similar griffin-pets lazing on satin sheets, doted upon by the courtesans, inky dark and adorned with golden collars. “They are kept as protectors for the clients, perhaps the instincts of a guardian are present.”

Feralus looked thoughtful. This was the way to work around his fear of nobles- practical topics. Kael tucked that away in the back of his mind.

"That might well be our only option, and could help us work around inbreeding problems.”

They were interrupted by rapid footsteps. One of the initiate growers skidded into the shed, yellow hair tumbling out of a messy bun. She briefly froze upon spotting Kael'thas, skittered slightly and then turned to Feralus and cried;

“He’s eating the vines!”

Of course he is. No need to ask who _he_ was. Kael'thas took a fortifying breath and smiled at the freshly aghast Feralus.

“Perhaps we should investigate the yard?”

The vine rows seemed well maintained, laid out in parallel rows and separated into squares according to age. Illidan had landed right in the oldest block, where the vines climbed even taller than him and arced over one another to form green tunnels.

They hadn’t had time to cobble paths out here and soon he felt dry dust sticking to his face. Brilliant.

Up close the clay had a rosy pink hue, rather than the reddish glaze he’d perceived from griffin back. Perhaps it was to do with the plants. They certainly seemed healthy enough, twisting eagerly skyward and bearing clusters of tiny green grapes.

The sight ought to have been pleasing, but all he could think about was getting dust on his cloak. The tailors would jump on that as an excuse to design for him, where they ought to focus on the populace.

He huffed at himself over such a foolish preoccupation. Dust could be brushed off.

Illidan certainly didn’t seem concerned, standing shirtless and loose-winged in the green shade. Kael'thas paused, briefly struck by how well his indigo colouring blended into the soft evening shadows. Was this how he would have appeared in those ancient forests, half a shadow, all his edges made gentle in the gloom? If he squinted he could pretend the wings were a cloak, the horns some kind of headdress. Even the massive black talons didn’t seem so wicked, engaged as they were in splitting open some strange alabaster fruit.

“Ah, sorry, excuse me? Those are weeds. They’ll make you sick.” Feralus spoke loudly and slowly as if to someone hard of hearing. Kael'thas remembered belatedly that it was an assumption among the commoners that Illidan couldn’t speak or really understand them. Why would an ancient ancestral creature be able to speak common-cant? It also explained why they barely saw him in public and why he never addressed his people directly.

Fortunately enough Illidan either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Your knowledge betrays you. These are-” he paused, clearly searching for a translation of some term in his mind. “Elune’s vine, you would call it. You boil the flesh before eating, but you can have this part raw.”

He cracked open the fruit as he spoke, revealing what looked like curved nuts in the heart.

Kael turned a withering stare on Feralus.

“It’s a food crop, and you didn’t know?”

_I need the people around me to be competent. I can’t do everything alone._ He dug his nails into his palm, grateful for the long sleeves that hid his annoyance. _Be patient. We have all being thrown into disarray. We are learning._

To his credit Feralus didn’t flinch from him, probably because he was distracted by talk of plants.

“These vines are new to us. They only began to grow up alongside the oldest grapes some weeks ago.”

Kael couldn’t quite stop his ears from tensing up.

“You don’t know what they are? Could they be harmful?”

Illidan listened with something close to interest.

“You have forgotten these? They were always grown together. Elune’s vine protects the surrounding plants from pests and disease.”

Feralus shook his head, ears flapping. 

“Ah.” Illidan turned back to the moon vine and carefully lifted one of the lilac flowers. “I forget your age. This seed and its progeny could be over ten thousand years old, carried in the soil at the grape vines roots.”

“It could survive so long?” Kael struggled to keep disbelief out of his voice.

Feralus inclined his head, calm now that he could forget he was surrounded by nobles.

“You’d be surprised. There’s flowers out there that only release their seeds in fire. Desert plants that look dead come back if misted with water.”

Well, wasn’t that just a metaphor and a half? He wished Rom was here, so that he had someone to roll his eyes at.

“Many things can endure in the dark.” Illidan murmured, so quietly only Kael heard it. He tensed as he spoke, as if surprised by himself, and then shook his wings outwards. “I shall leave you to your work.”

His departure upwards provided another welcome distraction. Kael’thas turned away from the gardeners and eyed the grapevine nearest to him. How strange it was, to think this silly green thing was older than him, to think it might outlive him.

Had Dath’remar cared for this one himself, carefully taken it out of the ground and brought it aboard a ship destined for new lands? Why? Why a plant of all things? But ah, hadn’t he snatched up a shard of azure tile from the palace before they left, didn’t he keep it wrapped in velvet beneath his pillow? Wouldn’t you do anything to bring home with you, carrying a seed of it to grow it elsewhere?

Wasn’t everyone relying on him to make them a home once more?

He thought of the vines, withered and abandoned. How easily it could happen, despite all of them struggling to survive. How was it right that people could pour their heart into something and have it fail?

“My Prince?”

He closed his eyes briefly. His burden now, alone, all of it.

“Let’s test how palatable these fruits are, shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed my work, please find me over at https://happyorogeny.tumblr.com/


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